Itsuki Hashima had made his debut after winning a prize for new authors at the age of sixteen. In the ensuing three or so years, he had published a total of twenty novels—five one-shots and three multivolume series.
Even with what he had already written before going pro, twenty releases in three years was a dizzying pace—and with the level of quality he still managed at that speed, he had built up a fairly decent reader fan base. Several titles had made it onto the top-ten paperback bestseller lists released by Oricon, the most well-known sales charts in Japan. You could, in other words, say he was kind of a rising star.
When it came to writing speed, imagination, and ability to formulate a compelling story and engaging characters, Itsuki Hashima had what it took to grow and mature as a popular novelist going forward—but despite that, all his recent works had sold at a decidedly “eh” level.
One trait common to all his stories was that the main heroine was framed as a “younger sister” type.
It was a common trope among novels like these, and one that was easy to turn into a popular character, but his dogged adherence to that mold for heroines certainly made some readers roll their eyes and go, “Not again…” And given how Itsuki himself constantly strove to differentiate his little sisters from those in other novels, these characters were trending slightly further along the “extreme” scale with each new volume. As of late, even his male leads were talking about their sisters in ways that can be described only as demented, no doubt turning off quite a few readers along the way.
Figuring Itsuki would need to step away from this trope for a bit if he wanted to experience a second big break, Toki had half forced him into devising Demon Hunter in Scarlet (final title TBD). He discovered that in doing so, Itsuki had instead created an entirely new breed of sisterly monster. “Ugh… The guy’s just crazy for little sisters…” Toki was on his way back to the office from Itsuki’s place. He heaved a weighty sigh, releasing a cloud of visible breath in the crisp January air.
“Oh! Hello, Mr. Toki!”
He was cheerfully greeted by a small young man in a windbreaker with a plastic bag from the grocery store hanging from one hand.
“Ooh, hey there, Chihiro,” Toki replied. “I was just coming back from discussing story ideas with your brother.”
“Were you? Well, thanks for being such a help to him.”
“Oh, not at all. He’s helping me, really.”
This was Chihiro Hashima, Itsuki’s younger brother. He was in his first year of high school, and between his neck-length black hair and fair-skinned, indifferent-looking face, he had a sort of dashing charm to him. Itsuki described him as the perfect kid—head of the class, a star on the sports field, the whole bit. The Hashima family home was around twenty minutes by bus from Itsuki’s current apartment, and Chihiro made the trip frequently to cook for him, tidy his space, and so forth. That made him an acquaintance of Toki’s as well.
“Here to make dinner for him again?”
“That’s right, sir.”
“…Man, he’s lucky to have a brother like you. I’m almost jealous.”
“Oh, no, really…” Chihiro blushed a bit at Toki’s heartfelt compliment. “I should get going, though. Let me know if you need anything from him.”
With a polite bow, he walked off. Toki watched him go, reflecting on what a kind, gentle, gallant kid he was. A good cook, and he kept an ever-watchful eye on his big bro. Perfect.
“…Too bad Chihiro wasn’t born a girl, I guess. Then maybe Itsuki wouldn’t be a with all these little-sister fetishes… Oh, but then he probably never would’ve become a novelist in the first place… Hard to say, I guess…”
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Several minutes after Toki took his leave, Itsuki heard the doorbell ring. He opened the door, as he had been expecting Chihiro around this time.
“…Hey.”
“Yo.”
“…Mm.”
With this exchange of grunts, Itsuki let Chihiro in. Despite the fact that they were relatives, there was an odd, ever-present awkwardness in their interactions. They had become stepbrothers three years ago, when Itsuki’s father married Chihiro’s mother—right when Itsuki made his professional debut, in other words. The older son had been in his second year of high school, the younger in his first year of middle school—a time of great emotional change for both. Suddenly becoming brothers left them unprepared, unable to figure out how to deal with each other, and at first they acted more like roommates sharing the place than anything else.
Things began to change only when Itsuki went to college and moved into his own apartment. He could’ve stayed with the rest of the family and commuted from there easily enough, but he rented this place anyway, with his own money, claiming that he could use the time saved to work on his writing. He had wound up dropping out of university during his freshman year, but being near his editor worked so well for him that he decided to keep living there.
During Itsuki’s aborted attempt at college, Chihiro would stop by sometimes with rice and other basic supplies. That was now happening more frequently, with Itsuki’s brother handling basic cooking and cleaning duties as well. Becoming a full-time writer had further accelerated Itsuki’s already lightning-fast pace, but it had also further deteriorated his already poor grasp of living skills. His eating and sleeping patterns grew more and more irregular over time, and it was showing in the grime covering his apartment. After a certain point, Chihiro couldn’t bear to look at it any longer.
“I’ll cook this up real quick.”
“…Sure.”
Now Chihiro, wearing an apron, was lining up his ingredients and cooking utensils with obvious familiarity. Itsuki gave him a side-glance or two as he typed away on his laptop, working on his novel. Half an hour later, they were on opposite sides of a table.
“Thanks.”
“No prob.”
He had prepared shrimp in chili sauce, some Chinese-style stir-fry, and fried rice—all made from scratch, nothing Itsuki could ever make, and all bursting with enough flavor to keep his chopsticks busy. Chihiro, flashing a slight smile as he watched his brother feast on it all, minded his manners as he ate at a more measured pace. Even at the dinner table, he was the perfect picture of refinement. Sophisticated, attractive, head of the class, phys-ed phenom, master chef, master homemaker, chill personality, well mannered—some kind of perfect über-bro, really. As his older brother—or as another man, really—Itsuki couldn’t help but foster an inferiority complex. It had a tendency to make him take a dig at Chihiro sometimes.
“…Hey, uh, Chihiro? I really appreciate you coming here all the time, but don’t you, um, have anything better to do? Like… I dunno, take your girl out on a date or something?”
Chihiro soured a bit. “I don’t have a girl.”
“Oh, no?”
“No.”
A matter of personal choice, no doubt. No way Chihiro, of all people, wouldn’t attract attention from the opposite sex.
“Why don’t you go find one?”
“…I dunno. Don’t really want one, I guess,” he said moping. “Plus, y’know… I’m worried about you.”
“Aw, geez, Chihiro, you don’t have to worry about me!”
Chihiro let out a soft sigh. “…Well, maybe I wouldn’t if you could get your act together a little?”
“Hey, I can! Like, if I wanted to.”
“Really? So you can make three meals a day by yourself? Like, real food, with vegetables and stuff, and not just instant ramen? Will you clean and bathe yourself and keep the recycling organized? Could you put your porn games back on the shelf by yourself?”
“S-sure I can…”
“No, you can’t,” Chihiro immediately replied. “Look, Bro, you washed one of your knit sweaters with the rest of the laundry again, didn’t you? That’s what you always do. You just toss all your crap in there, pour in whatever amount of detergent looks right to you, then pick a random setting and start it up.”
Itsuki scowled at this completely accurate description of himself.
“There’s settings…? Um…b-but you got one thing wrong there, Chihiro!”
“Oh?”
“I didn’t put any detergent in at all! I ran out, and I never bothered to buy some more!”
“Wooow, what an achievement. And don’t you have another jug under the sink in there?”
“…Oh, I do?”
“Ugh…” Another sigh. “You’d be pretty doomed without me, wouldn’t you?” he observed, sounding ever-so-slightly pleased.
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